Into The Enclave, Chapter 1: The Final Delivery
by God On High
Summary: This is the first installment in a long series of stories to come. It includes my imagining of Alan Morgan, the radio host from the mod "Enclave Radio". Many more chapters to come
1. Chapter 1

The Final Delivery

His feet stepped carefully over the debris and closer to his mark. The combat boots avoided in piece of the ruined building, never stepping too hard or too lightly on the ground, making sure the bug-eyed soldier never heard him. Just before he was right behind the soldier, he removed an ion grenade from his belt clip. Slowly unwrapping it from its protective wrapping, he looked at the soldier. Standard Enclave issue armor, most likely a standard soldier. The Courier pulled the pin from the Ion grenade and threw it towards the soldier. As he threw it, he rolled backwards, narrowly avoiding the fallen debris of the broken tower. The Ion grenade exploded and the soldier collapsed, the now un-powered armor that once protected him weighing him down. The Courier quickly stood up and ran over to the struggling soldier. He knelt and removed his helmet, laying it on the floor behind of him. He put his hands on the soldiers bug eyed helmet and pried it off.

Behind the mask, a face the Courier never thought to see again looked back at him. "Alan?" the Courier asked, his mind pondering how this impossibility had occurred. "Goddamn Courier… Ain't you gonna say hello?" the unexpected face replied. The Courier pondered this thought, then promptly spat into the soldier's face. "So…" he gritted through his teeth, "Why aren't you lying dead in the factory where I left you?" The soldier laughed and licked his lips. "You'd be astounded as to what technology the Enclave possesses…" The Courier let a slight smile tease his lips before spitting out his agave chew, once again onto the soldiers face. "And I'm sure they were ever so eager to dig their former president out of a ditch and utilize their Auto-Docs? C'mon President Morgan, don't expect me to believe that. The Enclave wanted you dead. They wouldn't revive you. If this is some pathetic attempt to make me believe you still have power, then obviously you're not as much as those old politicians as you tell yourself you are. Unless, this has something to do with the time rift at Navarro?" The Courier asked, already anticipating the answer. The former leader looked back at him, his lips tightly pressed together. Before the Courier could react, the suit of armor jumped to life and Alan Morgan sprang at him, pinning him to the floor. "You don't know… You have no idea what death is like… If you were behind Navarro, I swear to you, I will make you pay until your last breath…"

The Courier gasped for air as Alan's hand tightened around his neck. "You don't know what going through time that does to you… It makes you see what everyday life is equal to… Makes an hour a second, makes you wish you could die… but I won't die… as long as I live, as long as life flows through my body, you have failed, and your final delivery mission was a failure as well!" The giant metal man shouted, his hands squeezing the last of the air out of the Couriers throat. The Courier thrashed and kicked, to no avail. The Enclave armor simply gave the President too much strength for the Courier to fight. Knowing he wouldn't win at the strength game, the Courier fumbled for his Wave Modifier. His hands found the stick like object and he pulled it off his belt. Using his free hand, he punched Alan in the face. With the other hand, he jammed the Wave Modifier into the exposed recon armor, in the armpit where the armor parted. Setting it to the fourth setting with his index finger, he pushed the trigger with his thumb. The device gave off a loud "Whirrrrrrrrrrrrr" before sending a jolt of electricity through the armor, incapacitating both him and the President.

Hours later, the Courier awoke suddenly to the sound of a Brahmin moo-ing. He opened his eyes to the sight of Alan Morgan lying in front of him. The surrounding area jerked and swerved. The Courier looked to his right and saw the Brahmin that had made the sound. Had he not been in an old building before? He looked to his right and saw another man, black and rather small lying unconscious as well. To his dismay, the Courier quickly realized that he was in a slave cage, most likely travelling to the Pitt with a merry band of raiders. Softly cursing, the courier reached for his Wave Modifier, before finding that all his clothing (with the exception of his undergarments, had been removed. The Courier settled in and prepared for a long ride…


	2. Chapter 2

Alan woke to the sound of a far off scream, and a sharp pain in his thigh. He slowly opened his eyes, his body still aching from the electricity the Courier had sent through his armor. As his eyes adjusted to the light level, Alan realized he was in a cell. The air smelled of fire and smoke, and the distant clanging of metal could be heard, like a soft metronome. To his horror, Alan realized he was in the Pitt, an old slaver city reborn by the old slaves themselves.

Alan looked down at his thigh, where the opening to his specially crafted armor had been. Obviously, whoever had removed the armor had forcefully removed it, severely bruising his left leg in the process. He slowly stood up, his leg pounding in pain as he adjusted his weight. Alan finally stood himself up properly and searched for an opening to the cell. Two long bars in front of him made a small door, that even a small man would have an issue fitting through, not to mention a man as tall as Alan. Exasperated, Alan sank to the floor and let out a sigh as the pain in his leg renewed.

After a half hour of pondering in the cell, Alan heard footsteps outside. He looked up from the floor and watched the door carefully. The small door cell door opened slowly as a hooded figure entered the cell, a long rifle hanging by his side. He spoke in a harsh voice, obviously scarred by drug use. "You know, we couldn't believe our eyes when we found you, soldier. A prime suit of Presidential Enclave armor? That's only dreamed about by psycho prospectors!" The hooded figure laughed a harsh laugh as he leveled the rifle at Alan's head. "Unfortunately, a President doesn't sell as well as his armor…" The hooded man laughed as Alan attempted to stand up, falling back down. "Human meat however… that sells rather well…" The hooded figure leveled his rifle against Alan's head and prepared to pull the trigger…


End file.
